Hellsky (Hunter-Killer #3)

Chapter 49 - Planetfall

It had been a very long time since he'd been to Brekka. The younger Lanto Numitor had done plenty of cross-continent journeys, as a trade liaison, then a defence attaché; even a short stint as the official representative from Rubicon's diplomatic core.

Those days were over a decade in his past now. He saw the fortress city come into view on the horizon, its great white walls rising like a single tooth from the plateau floor. It was a place steeped in violence and history in equal measure. He sipped at his glass of water and stared at it, picking out the angles of the heavy battlements and the studs of the wall guns as the gradually grew into prominence.

Beneath him the powerful engines of Xanthus's military skiff thundered. Four times the size of any ordinary Scout Cadre skiff, it kicked up a huge swathe of dust in its wake, while the escorting brigade of crimson-painted Rubicon scouts buzzed along in a protective cordon. He laid a hand on the edge of the viewport, feeling the vibrations.

"I hope you're ready for this," Xanthus said from behind him, pacing uneasily with a glass of whisky in one hand. Her face was set in a scowl, her anger still sizzling beneath her skin. "I doubt the Brekkans will be in a forgiving mood."

"I'm ready," Lanto told her, not looking round. "And I'm not the one who needs their forgiveness."

"And you think I do?"

"Wouldn't hurt."

"Don't be smug, Lanto. It doesn't suit you."

He sighed, swivelling to face her. "You were in command. Are in command. There isn't a big enough truck for you to throw Nastassos under."

"I will accept my share of blame," she answered frostily. "But we have to move forward. You of all people should agree with that."

"Oh, I do. Just, don't expect them to roll out the red carpet."

Xanthus let out a snort of irritation and settled back into her chair, eyes returning to her datapad as she drank in the reports flowing out of Brekka. With communication fully restored, Lanto got the complete picture of just what had transpired down here, and it chilled him to his bones. They really had been inches from all out civil war.

Both sides now had dead to bury.

He turned back to the window, leaning forward as the glint of metal came into view beyond the high walls. The northern gate hung open, and their column slowed on approach, the pilots under strict orders to adhere to any directions given by Brekka's defenders.

A corridor of the city's soldiers waited for them: Hunter-Killers, scouts and infantry trucks arranged in neat ranks, but somehow Lanto didn't think they were there to pay respects. Suspicious eyes watched their convoy as they slid onwards, along with gun barrels, tracking Xanthus and her entourage. Brekkan skiffs peeled off to shadow them on approach to the open gate.

As they passed through, the ranks of Brekka's soldiery folded in behind them like a trap slamming shut. Lanto licked his lips and drained the last of his water, trying to fight down the nerves that were beginning to jangle. There were a lot of bridges to be mended today, and he knew they would be facing an uphill battle. They entered the streets, gliding along on their pre-determined route towards the Forge.

Something clanged off the outer hull of the skiff, barely a foot from his viewing window. Lanto recoiled with a hiss of surprise, before leaning sharply forward, peering out into the city.

He saw angry faces. Open mouths and gritted teeth. Obscene gestures and a shower of detritus hurtling towards the northern diplomatic convoy.

A bottle shattered against the side of the command skiff; he saw the offender grabbed and manhandled away by Brekkan militia, but the point was made. The side streets were infested with angry people – people who apparently wanted nothing to do with the north anymore.